No more reruns
by thejollyape
Summary: First meeting from Holly's pov.
1. Chapter 1

Some days you wake up, you put your clothes on, you eat your breakfast and you go to work. It's a routine that keeps repeating itself in what almost feels like an endless series of reruns. Then comes the day when someone adds a scene, changes dialogue and maybe introduces a new guest star. Like today.

I've been at the lab long enough for the routine to be my routine and this morning felt like just about any day. So when the call came in I didn't even disconnect before I had my boots on and was checking my bags. Decaying body in the park and the need for a forensic pathologist and I was already on my way.

In my experience cops, and especially beat cops, are short-tempered and full of assumptions. That's when they're not outright hostile and bigoted. So showing up at a scene and being mocked isn't that big a thing. Honestly, my expectations are low and I'm pleased as long as I don't have to dodge comments and slurs about my sex or age. And believe me, working in law enforcement both of those are factors that make a big difference in how you're perceived. Personally I've got neither to my advantage.

So indirect comments about being a rambling nerd is refreshing. Besides the platinum blonde cop can't be much more than a rookie herself. Which makes it hard, or well almost impossible for me not to mess with her by spouting off as much forensic jargon I can think of. I don't have a superiority complex, or at least not that much of one, but it always feels good to put a cop in their place. Also, the look of total confusion on her face is cute enough to make it totally worth it.

And I didn't know it then, but that's when my rerun turned into a season premiere.

i**i

She's making me motion sick, I swear. I don't mind the acerbic little comments she keeps dropping, because they're actually kind of funny and cute. It's a little like watching a Golden Retriever trying to act like a gangster. But in the past five minutes she's walked around the lab four times. It's making my head spin and is proving to be more than a little distracting as each time she passes me my concentration is broken by the faint traces of her perfume. It's hard sitting with a corpse in front of you and at the same time trying to pinpoint what scent she's wearing.

"Okay, blondie," I finally sigh while trying to not show too much of my frustration, because I was a fairly certain that would only spur her on.

She looks up at me and I'm almost a little shocked at how blue her eyes under the artificial lights. Not the sky blue of a summer day, more of a haunting kind of blue and it makes me lose my words for a second or two as I fight the shiver that wants to run up my spine.

"Peck," she tells me and draws her index finger across her chest, highlighting the nametag. She raises her brows and taps her chest once more before returning to studying the billboard in the corner.

"Okay, Peck. Listen." I lick my lips and roll away from the table and bones in front of me. "I'm sure you don't have to be here the entire time," I tell her, trying to be as tactful yet discouraging at possible. "This is going to take hours and-"

I don't even have time to finish before she replies, "Oh, I don't mind".

I bite back the reply that's on my own tongue. Studying the back of her head I realise I'm going about this entirely wrong. I stand up and walk over to one of the bookshelves, reaching for a stack of journals before grabbing hold of her arm and dragging her over to the desk.

"Here!" I say and show the bundle at her while pushing her down in a chair. "Read," I tell her.

She sputters at me. Literally sputters. I can't remember if I've ever seen or heard anyone do that before in my life. Despite the unintelligent mumbling she does take hold of the journals and she sinks into my office chair but not without a small pout and a frown. She gives me a look that I can't quite decipher and drops the reading material on the desk, nearly knocking the computer screen over in her exaggerated carelessness. She narrows her eyes slightly and I'm sure I'll get a nice caustic little reply from her, but I let the silence stretch and the expected comment never comes. I raise an eyebrow and nod towards the stack she dumped all over the desk. With a sniff she breaks eye contact and picks up the journal at the bottom of the pile.

Hyperbolic Golden Retriever, I think to myself and smile as I'm finally able to return to the work.


	2. Chapter 2

Throw a laughtrack over my day and it could pass as a network sitcom. Hijinks and hilarity ensue by throwing a Police Officer with a bad attitude and a sharp tongue at me as I'm trying to do my job. Feels like a slapstick comedy and that's not just because of the incident during lunch when Larry showed up with a tray of kidneys.

No, Gail Peck has spent the entire day as my shadow, only leaving my side once or twice for a coffee or a bathroom break. The rest of the day she's been camped out in the lab, oscillating between asking more questions than a five year old and then going back to sitting on a chair and staring out into empty space. At some point during the day the silence became as distracting as her questions and I couldn't help watch her as she watched nothing. Which was a bad idea.

She's got beautiful pale eyes, they look like cloudy ice when she daydreams. And there's a look in them that...it hurts just being a bystander to it. There's pain in it, but it's the round and muddled kind of pain that's not easily defined and doesn't have a single simple cause behind it. It's fifteen ills that turn into one blurry symptom. As cruel as it makes me sound, it's fascinating and a little bit beautiful. Maybe my ex was right about me after all, but I refuse to dwell on that right now.

So today has been an interesting day. The body in front of me went from greasy bones to broken young man with a name and a past. And the other puzzle, Officer Peck, I haven't gotten as far on that one, but I'm not ready to give up yet. I'm not that easily defeated.

At one point I thought she was flirting with me. The bantering held such a playful tone that I couldn't help wondering, especially since she's got a habit of standing a little too close whenever I tried to show her something. So when she started talking relationships I couldn't help myself, I had to make a comment. But turns out the banter was harmless and her dislike of the opposite sex was due to her like of the opposite sex, and not like in my case, indifference. To her credit she didn't bat an eye or become weird when I said I was a lesbian. The number of people who don't follow that up with inane or ignorant questions are unfortunately very limited. Along with the day we'd shared at the lab I had to admit to myself I liked her company. In fact, as I found myself with one hand on the door and about to go home, I didn't want it to end. Judging by how she kept dragging her feet maybe I wasn't the only one.

"Do you want food?" I ask going with the impulse.

She looks at me, a little reserved and a little curious, but with a grin that looks strangely self-satisfied. "Are you asking me out?"

"What if I were?" I reply, not that asking her out was my intention and not that I was actually asking her out, but suddenly I was really curious how she'd respond.

"Lesbians are always flirting with me, but I think you're the first one to ask me out."

"Lesbians are always flirting with you?" I repeat with a bemused smile. "Your life must be such a hardship."

She shrugs. "Must be pheromones or something."

"You are such a brat," I can't help the words escaping my mouth, or the little disbelieving snicker that follows.

"Excuse you, nerd," she huff. "You really suck at flirting."

At which I can't help laughing, loudly. It's been a long day, I'm really tired and there's just something about all of this that strikes me as absolutely hilarious. It isn't, but I can't stop laughing.

"What is wrong with you?!" She frowns and gives me a look that questions my sanity.

"Nothing," I say wiping at the tears and trying to stop the laughter that's still tickling my chest. "I'm not asking you out, I'm asking if you want to go grab something to eat," I say still smiling. With a pointed look down at my wrist watch I continue, "It's been a long day and I'm hungry, so I thought I'd be polite."

"Oh," she mouths and her face falls a little. Another shrug and head shake is followed by, "Sure".

"Sure what?" I needle her.

"Just shut up and lets go get dinner, weirdo."


	3. Chapter 3

I don't think there is a single person who likes doing laundry. Maybe they like the smell of it or the feel of it, but I sincerely doubt there is anyone who likes the sorting, washing, running around, wasting your time and folding. It's one of those chores that is always a chore no matter how you try to paint it. Then on occasions it gets worse. You get a red sock mixed up with your whites, you read the label wrong and end up with a mini mini-skirt, or you find something that doesn't belong to you. That's where I'm right now, staring down the balled up t-shirt that isn't mine. It's just a silly lump of cotton/polyester blend, green, black print advertising a bar downtown, well worn, and with enough power to make me stop. Enough power to make me sink down into my couch and…feel things.

It's not breaking my heart even if maybe it should. Still the sentimental value of something so stupid as a piece of clothing is hitting my like a ton of bricks. It used to belong to my Ex. To someone who hasn't been a part of my life for six months, but somehow the t-shirt has stayed hidden under my clothes, somewhere out of sight and didn't show itself until now. My apartment's been winter and now it's spring and the dog turds get to see the ray of light again, so to speak.

It's not that I miss her, it's not a relationship I miss, but when you've been with someone for two years things linger, like emotions and stray clothing. And it reminds you of all the words that were spoken, the angry ones, the hurtful and dismissive. Some of it from my mouth, some from hers. But memory plays tricks and the ones you remember are only hers. And you remember them loudly and on repeat. Maybe I really wasn't much of a girlfriend, maybe I even was the person she made me out to be.

No, I definitely don't miss her, but that doesn't stop my heart from feeling heavy in my chest. It annoys me, that lump of undigested emotions that obviously are left in there. It makes me hate her a little from leaving me questioning myself and for leaving that ugly shirt here in the first place. But mostly it makes me feel numb and heartless. Because the biggest reason I feel heavy is because the emotions it makes me feel are about me and how she perceived me and not about her or our relationship. It's an egocentric kind of pain, leaving as bad a taste in my mouth as our way too casual two year relationship did. I really should have loved her more than I did. To settle so easily is proof enough that I was the asshole she claimed I was. She never meant enough to me for me to deserve her.

My head falls back against the couch and I can't help groaning, "I hate laundry," to myself. This wallowing is disgusting, but I can't seem to help it. It's not even regret, just nasty left-overs stuck to the back of my heart.

As if I've got the Universe on speed-dial, happy to indulge me with an interruption, Danse Macabre suddenly starts playing and my phone begins vibrating across my bedside table. Despite the needed break in introverted self-contemplation I don't want to get up and I don't want to answer it, but my muscle overrule my apathy and I find myself with phone in hand, frowning deeply at the name flashing across the screen.

"What can I do for you, Officer Peck?" I ask, keeping the formality as mostly a joke, but partly because I'm uncertain if it's professional or personal call.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I need a plus one," she replies on the other end, her voice a little muted and the sound warbled making me wonder where she's at.

I toss the unfolded laundry to the side and sink down on my bed. "What would be the wrong way?" I have to wonder, already knowing this woman well enough to know there are so many ways to interpret what she considers to be "the wrong way".

"You're not going to get laid at the end of the night, but you're still going to have get dressed up and put up with me an entire evening," she says and I hear her exhale slowly. "But there's an open bar," she quickly adds.

"So free alcohol, no sex and you - would that be to take things the right way?" I feel the corners of my mouth turn up, just a little, it's a silly conversation. Gail's silly and…fun. That's more than enough reason to smile, I tell myself.

"Nailed it."

"What exactly is this thing that you need a plus one for and when is it?" I'm tempted. It actually sounds like it could be a fun time. And I haven't seen her since we had dinner a few nights ago. Not long ago I guess, but I've yet to grow tired of her company.

"A wedding and in four hours," she rush out and at first I thought I heard wrong.

"Tonight?" I have to double check.

"Yaah," she breathes out.

"Okay," I agree. I don't even think it through, it's a reflex. My body goes with the impulse and makes the choice. I mean, I really do hate doing laundry with my entire being.

"You'll do it?" she replies incredulously. And I can't blame her, I'm a little surprised by how dominant my own tongue is. I'm not used to it making decisions like that on its own.

"Why not?!" I retort. It's a good question and since I don't have an answer to it I know I'll be going to a wedding.

"I-" she begins and I can tell she wasn't really prepared for me to say yes. I feel like maybe I should say something, take it back, change my mind, say no, but again my tongue takes control this time by staying immobile.

My ear fills with her breathing and the silent break is on the verge of becoming awkward. I open my mouth to end it, but before I have a chance words finally slip between her lips. "Want to meet at the bar? Head straight for the good stuff?"

Now it's my turn to fumble a little for the right words. "Sure," I say and I know I don't sound sure at all.

"We're going to regret this?" she asks me, probably going off my insecure tone, but even if I can't see her face over the phone I've got a feeling she's smiling.

"I never regret anything," I tell her boldly, biting my cheek as I realise how close to the truth that actually is. Questions and doubts of course, but seldom regrets.

"Ha!" she mocks me. "Hang out with me long enough and I'll make sure that changes. Two words for you," she says and lets the anticipation stretch across a silent beat. "Open bar."

I laugh. It's silly. "So the ground rules are to keep you entertained and enjoy the unlimited amount of alcohol?"

"You are correct."

"The no sex clause, does that only apply to you? Or no-sex indiscriminately?"

"I'd like to see you try to get lucky," she scoffs. "The guests are fifty percent cops and in case you've missed it, 15 is probably the straightest division in Toronto."

I automatically find myself nodding. "No comment."

"So you'll really do this?" she wonders in a thin voice. "You'll be my plus one for tonight?"

"Sure," I say, this time feeling it too. "It'll be fun." And I mean it.


	4. Chapter 4

"Holly, you've got a phone call," Larry says as he pokes his head through the door. I can tell he wants to say something more, he's got that thinly veiled expression of curiosity on his face. The one that makes him look like a five year old and not the man of middling age with a receding hairline, three kids and a mortgage that he is. If the expression wasn't enough of a give-away the fact that he lingers on the threshold makes it sort of obvious.

"Yes?" I drawl, feeling generous enough to indulge him.

"It's someone named Gail…," his sentence is open-ended and I can't help but smile at the lame attempt to make me fill in the blanks. He's a relentless fisher for gossip and personal tidbits.

I'm amused enough for it to take a moment to register how strange it is for Gail to call the lab's mainline and not directly to my cellphone.

"Or actually it was a nurse from Mount Sinai-"

Now my heart does a thing in my chest. A double thump that makes it feel like my blood is cold water. Despite the sludge freezing my veins I get up immediately, push back from my workstation and head out the door without even glancing at Larry, only catching a whiff of his rather intrusive cologne as I rush past him.

The phone is waiting for me at the small area that works as our reception. The main hub from which the different labs spread out like a web. It's mostly an abandoned area covered in dust and a lot of ownerless stuff that seem to magically multiply when no one's looking. In the middle of it all is an old phone, the plastic once white but now beige from sunshine and age. Or maybe just filth, greasy fingerprints having worked their chemistry over time. I hesitate, my mind blank, but my palms suddenly a little sweaty. For a second though I stop to think that maybe my hands aren't the first ones to have grabbed hold of the receiver like this, cold with sweat and with the barest of tremors.

"Holly Stewart speaking." My voice is solid, unwavering. As if I'm used to taking calls from nurses. Like this happens all the time. Lunch, followed by blood samples to analyse, bodies to examine and then calls from hospitals. All in a day's work.

"Holly!" the voice on the other end exclaims happily in my ear, Gail's voice. And now I feel stupid, really really stupid. Embarrassment causing my cheeks to flush rosey red and my neck to itch a little. I don't know what I expected, or why I expected it.

"What's up?" I ask, fighting the ebbing tide of emotions, but still confused by why she's calling on this joint line. We've spent enough of our spare time together that I even knowing I've received the honour of joining her speed-dial family. I'd even teased her about it last time we went to the cinema. She'd told me it was because I was a nerd and she was only doing her civic duty trying to make me feel better about it by pretending to be my friend. And then she'd stolen my popcorn as retaliation, so I wouldn't get to used to being too popular.

"I am," she sighs. "Also I'm sad, but also up. Mostly. Very relaxed, like a little cloud. And a little scared. There was a thing with drugs and I'm hurt."

My heart does the icy double thump again as she voices the exact thing I'd been expecting, realising how much fear that caused me. Surprised at how deeply that fear cut through me.

"What?"

"Andy was here…" But she doesn't finish, all I get is more silence and it's almost making me irritated.

"Andy hurt you?" I'm so confused right now.

"Andy hurt me?" she echoes back at me. She almost sounds drunk. I look down at my watch and frown at the time. That can't be, I know she was working today.

"Gail, where exactly are you?" I demand.

"Hospital."

I take a deep breath and exhale slowly through my nose. "Why are you in the hospital?"

"Because I'm hurt, Holly. I thought you were supposed to be a doctor," she complains, sounding as if she's annoyed by my slow uptake.

"Are you on any medication right now?"

"Pills. They gave me pills. I think they were white. Mmmm."

I take another deep breath and remove my glasses, folding them with one hand and shoving them into the pocket of my labcoat. "You're in the hospital, because you got hurt and they've given you some kind of medicine." I summarise, for my own sake as much as hers.

"You are so smart, you know that," she tells me in a high pitched voice that sounds suspiciously unsarcastic and a little odd. So I'm thinking my initial reaction wasn't far off, whatever medicine they've given her she's not completely lucid. "Successful and smart. It's unfair, but I still like you, you know."

"Where are you hurt?" I try to narrow things down, judging by the fact that she's on the phone with me it can't be too bad, but still a little worried that whatever it is required drugs that muddle her brain and speech to this point.

"In the hospital. I told you, Holly." I bite my tongue and can't decided whether to be amused or annoyed. "And you're tall and athletic," she adds unprovoked. "Like the way you kept swinging that bat when we went hitting. With muscles and stuff."

"Why are you calling me?" I try another approach to get some information out of her, or at least stop her from rambling.

"Don't you like talking to me?" she throws the question back at me and I can hear the hurt in her voice.

"Of course I do," I reassure her, suddenly wishing I was next to her and that we weren't on the phone where so many nuances got lost. Also I was starting to really wish I could grab hold of her and shake her a little to get her to make sense and tell me the whole story. All these disjointed snippets are beginning to make my head pound.

"I like talking to you too," she tells me in a whisper. "Can you come get me?" she pleas. "They took my car keys and my phone has a password. I don't remember it having a password. And Andy's here, she won't leave." The last bit she hisses into the phone.

"I'll be there soon, okay."

"You're my friend," she sings to me.

And I shake my head with a smile. Even when she's frustrating and probably high as a kite she still makes me smile. She's right though, that is what friendship will do. Creating the ability to piss someone off, without diminishing the affection. "Get some sleep and I'll come get you."

She disconnects without a goodbye and I fish around in my pocket for my own phone, wondering who at Mount Sinai I could call and what lies I'd have to tell for them to give me the real information on whatever was wrong with her.

Walking back to my office Larry popped his head out of his. "Everything okay?" he asks still as curious as ever.

"Not now, Larry," I tell him and shake my head. The phone connection clicks and someone picks up at the other end. "Hello, this is Doctor Stewart-"

And then I lie my pants off, but that's what you do for a friend in need. Or that's what you do when your friend is in need and your stomach is a led weight of unwarranted worry.


	5. Chapter 5

Honestly, I don't think I've ever met anyone who wears her heart so much on her sleeve as the woman sitting in my passenger seat. And it would take a blind person to miss the red rims around her eyes and the shimmer that could only mean one thing. The question becomes, do I ignore it? Do I say something? Do I wrap her up in my arms and hold her close?

"Do you want to see my place?" I end up asking, forgoing all the other options.

She looks over at me and it hits me how truly beautiful she actually is. Not in a sadist kind of why where I like to see her close to tears, but how easy it is to see the beauty beyond the pain and the storm of emotions she can't seem to hide.

She licks her lips before she replies, "I'd like that".

i**i

The car ride from the hospital has been spent in silence. She's obviously got things to work through and I think the last of the painkiller high is wearing off too, leaving her feeling a little tired if I'm to trust the slow blinking I see whenever I look over at her. Maybe the pain is coming back as well. I forced her to show her arm to me back at the hospital and the chemical burn looked pretty bad so I can only imagine the discomfort. But I'm not fooling myself into thinking the teary eyes are because of that. Still there's an invisible line and a wall around her, and I think that for now I better leave both alone and not put my nose in things that aren't really my business.

I pull the car into an empty parking spot and kill the engine. The silence becomes big and vibrant, but I don't feel like I should poke at it. Instead I sit there, seatbelt still across my chest, watching the Thompson kids kick a ball around outside of our building, seeing their shadows grow large and imposing under the lit streetlights.

"Are we there or are you having some kind of narcoleptic seizure?" she asks.

I hide my mouth behind my hand, rubbing across my face to not show how wide my smile is. I make a point out of not looking at her as I wrestle the grin into submission. She doesn't need to know how easily she makes me smile, she's arrogant enough as it is. I hear her remove the seatbelt, but she stays seated and silent.

"We're here," I finally say, unbuckling as well. I reach back into the backseat for my bag before opening the door and getting out into the crisp cold night. I shiver as the air hits me full force and makes me regret only wearing a jacket. But it wasn't by choice, I left the lab in a hurry and my coat's left hanging in my locker, forgotten.

I close the door and it's soon followed by the sound of Gail closing the passenger one. With the click of a button I lock the doors. "C'mon, it's just across the street." I look both ways and hurry across and up the front steps. With only half a moment's hesitation she follows me.

The stairs are navigated in continued silence, until we reach the fourth floor and my apartment door, the familiar and partly faded 413 stenciled onto the dark wooden surface. With my key in the lock it suddenly hits me she's got nothing with her. "You've got nothing with you."

"You're like Sherlock Holmes, but with better hair," she quips from behind me.

I twist my head and look at her over my shoulder, a little surprised at how close she's standing and how small she looks. Her hands are tucked into her pockets, the scruff of her uniform jacket pulled up high around her neck, but the trademark Peck smartass smirk is all over her face. My eyes then go up and down her body, lingering briefly on what looks to be a very uncomfortable kevlar vest.

"If you keep doing that I'm going to leave you wearing that stuff," I say and knock my fingers against her stomach, shuddering a little at the rough synthetic material scraping against my cold bare knuckles. "Or worse, I'll force you to wear my Ex's clothes," I threaten.

"You still got your Ex's clothes? I thought you broke up almost a year ago." She takes a step away from me and leans against the wall next to my door, to get a better look at me I guess.

"She really loved pink," I lie and am rewarded with Gail scrunching up her face.

"Just open the door already, genius," she says and bumps her shoulder against mine.

I push down and hold the door open for her, enjoying the warmth and scent of home that hits us both in the face. The first comforting sensation I've had since before lunch. It's a good one too. Enough for the weight in my stomach and rock on my chest to lift and fade as I take a second deep inhale of home.

As I hold the door open she walks inside the small hallway that leads straight into the one big open room that is my apartment. Her eyes are darting across the room, going between furniture and windows, skimming across the two doors; the bathroom one closed and the one leading to the very small kitchen open halfway.

"It's a studio," she exclaims and looks back at me in surprise.

Even if the moment called for a repeat of her Sherlock crack I hold my tongue and give her a nod instead. Meanwhile reaching back and locking the triple locks on sheer routine.

"The only people who live in studio apartments are spoiled students and smelly hippies," she informs me, but step further into the room as I turn on the lights.

It's not the first time I hear a similar argument, my dad repeats it every time he visits. I'm not exaggerating when I say he's got a bigger issue with my apartment than with the gender of the person I sleep with. He's a mixed source of comfort and discontent.

"I'm a student of life and an artist of-" I wave my hand around in an abstract gesture. The same automatic response I've given dad the last six visits.

She looks at me as if I'm completely insane and I shrug with a crooked smile.

Sidestepping her and walking all the way in I dump my bag next to my tiny little corner desk before heading over to the racks and stacks in which I keep all my clothes, rummaging through a pile of folded shirts. Finding the one I was looking for I pull out a grey and nondescript sweatshirt, give it a mandatory sniff before throwing it at my frowning house guest.

She eyes me suspiciously and with a lot of hesitation repeats my smell test. "This the Ex's shirt?"

"No, that's mine and I've worn it once or maybe twice."

She continues to stare at me while holding the shirt just below her nose.

I sigh and shake my head. "I don't have cooties and it must be more comfortable than wearing that vest and starched uniform shirt."

"I guess…"

With another sigh I walk over and grab hold of her uninjured arm, pulling her towards and pushing her down on my couch. "Change or don't change, it's up to you." I leave her there and then head over to the bathroom. "This is the bathroom if you need it," I tell her and knock twice on the door for emphasis. "I'm going to make a couple of sandwiches, you just…do whatever."

She opens her mouth slowly and I stop in my tracks halfway into the kitchen. "It's cold on here," she says and bounces a little in place on the leather couch.

"That's what the blanket is for." I nod towards the knitted blanket slung over the back of it. "I'll be right back. Just relax, okay?"

"Okay."

Stepping into the kitchen I hear the sound of velcro being torn open and a faintly mumbled, "Maybe you don't smell bad, but you're still a hippie".


	6. Chapter 6

It's not even past lunch and my eyes already feel like they've been sprinkled with coarse sand. Repeatedly I blink. It's not helpful, the computer screen stays as blurry as before and my eyes as tired.

I'm more than a little annoyed at myself, I don't like being this out of it at work and it's not even as if I have a good excuse for it. Not really. Except for a bad night. Maybe I ate too much spicy food or something. There's really no other good explanation, there's nothing that should be bothering me enough to screw with my dreams this badly. Even if I can't remember the content of any of them I know I kept having vivid dreams and waking up with a belly full of anxiety and my sheets sticking to my sweaty skin. All night long. At four AM I'd given up and untangled myself from the bed, opting to do some work rather than to continue reliving the same sensations. And it's not the first time this past few weeks either.

So maybe it made sense why my eyelids felt like led and my head like wool. But I don't like it. Mostly because I can't pinpoint what's behind it. Those kinds of dreams and those feelings don't appear out of nowhere, they're left inside your mind as little kernels and over time expand and become what they were last night, a fearful mess. And until I can put a name to the original kernels they're not going to magically disappear, that much I'm certain of.

"Physician heal thyself," I mumble to myself. Or at least I thought I did.

"Talking to yourself is one of the first signs of madness." She's leaning against the doorframe, an almost wistful look in her eyes and a faint smile on her lips. Her blonde hair tied back in the customary tight ponytail, but a few loose strands flying around her face, touching her skin in places. I realise she looks a little tired too.

"Hey," I smile at her. "You look a little like I feel."

"If you say tired I'm not going to share my lunch with you," Gail warns me as she holds up a brown paper bag with a couple of grease stains on it.

"I'll stay quiet then," I say and my smile grows a little wider.

"You better," she responds and her own smile become more visible. "You've got time for a break?"

"Sure," I reply immediately without even glancing at the work in front of me. Honestly, as tired and unfocused as I am right now I'll do more damage than good if I keep working. I can't afford to miss details or skim across results. Better to take a break and hope I find some new energy, somewhere.

"Good," she says and pushes off the doorframe with her shoulder, heading straight for our lunchroom. It's not the first lunch she's brought and I really ought to be careful not to get used to being spoiled like this. Not just the food, but the company too. She's a sure step up from tired left-overs and Larry's small talk.

I look back at my screen and smile sheepishly. Who am I kidding, I already am used to it. With a shrug I shut down my work and hurry after her. Who cares, it's fun to be spoiled by the joys of a new friend.

i**i

"They've got me riding with McNally again," she complains as she takes a bite out of her sandwich.

"Again?" I ask, knowing it's not the first time this week. Also knowing she finds the setup as pleasant as a dentist appointment.

Mouth busy chewing she nods her reply. I take a bite of my own, turkey on rye, mayo, pickles and lettuce, but no tomatoes. I've been told, sternly, that tomatoes is something I can eat on my own spare time, because they're not getting anywhere near her. It really feels like a small concession when I get lunch delivered like this. Besides we're nothing without compromises. And I've managed to strike a similar bargain about cheese puffs. I don't know what her fascination with them are, but it's real and it's terrifying.

"She keeps staring at me, miserable and hurting," she scoffs. "As if she's got any right to be in pain."

I open my mouth to reply, but she beats me to it. "No, don't be mature and understanding," she warns me.

"Actually I was going to make an analogy about a female dog, but…," I shrug.

Her face immediately shines up as a smile replaces the angry frown that'd been there just a second ago.

"What are you working on anyhow?" she changes the subject a little bluntly, but I am only happy to oblige. I know the whole ex-boyfriend and friend thing is still pretty much an open wound for her.

"Nothing special," I answer unenthusiastically, picking up an escaped piece of lettuce from my napkin.

"Is that why you're so tired? Not enough challenges for you, stuck behind that screen?"

"It's not the same thing as getting out in the field and be hands on," I admit. "Some fresh air, some bones, some bugs, maybe some first stage decay tissue."

"Anyone ever tell you, you're kinda morbid?" she asks, but her tone is more curious than judgemental and she can't be too put off as she takes another huge bite of her food.

"A lot of people," I answer honestly. "It's probably, because I am." You don't spend as much time studying and working towards this goal unless the dead have some kind of pull on you. When I was a kid I was deathly afraid of the dark and all the dead ghouls my imagination conjured up into the blackness. As I got older I wrestled the fear into fascination, but I never seemed to be able to let it go. There's something in the break between living and decaying that still burns my imagination and spurs my interests; how we go from being real to being anonymous flesh and smelly remains waiting for nature to digest us. That shift is the biggest puzzle I've ever come across and even if it feels impossible to solve I can't stop sorting out the corner pieces from the sky blue ones. Yeah, despite my morbid mind my lunchtime thoughts aren't usually this dark or existential. I blame the lack of sleep.

"I haven't really been sleeping well," I decide to tell her. It's not her problem, but sometimes…misery loves company and maybe if I start talking about it my dreams will calm down.

She looks a little concerned at me. "Those weird demonic children next door keep you awake?" she asks with narrowed eyes.

"I don't get what you've got against the Thompson twins," I shake my head at her.

"They're twins!" she exclaims as if that's all the explanation needed.

Bemused I shake my head at her again. I've never met anyone so full of assumptions about anything and everyone. It should be irritating and frustrating, but she's such an equal opportunist with her oversimplifications that it usually ends up being amusing.

"Plus you didn't see how they looked at me last time I left your place. Those beady little eyes in stereo, staring me down, tracking my every movement down the staircase," she says with a shudder. "I felt like prey to their creepy Children of the Corn predator."

"Now I realise what's been keeping me up at night giving me nightmares," I pause for effect. "It's the knowledge that people like you are out there 'protecting' the rest of us. God help us all," I tease her.

Instead of responding to my mockery with caustic sarcasm like I thought she would, she surprises me by asking, "You've been having nightmares?". Her brows knit together in confusion and concern.

I shrug. "Not really nightmares, just bad dreams."

"And the distinction between those two would be?" she arches an eyebrow at me, questioning my logic.

"I don't know. I can't remember any of it well enough for it to count as nightmares, they're just abstract anxiety dreams. Probably indigestion," I try to joke.

Suddenly her phone starts vibrating and she gives me a pained expression. "I'm sorry, I have to-" she says and pull out the phone. "This is Peck."

Someone replies on the other end, but I can't hear more than a mumbled wordless warble. But the look on her face goes from pained to annoyed. "This can't wait?" she asks. "Fine, whatever. I'll be there."

She disconnects before the other person's even stopped talking and rather violently shoves the phone back in her pocket. "I'm really sorry, but I have to go," she apologises.

"Go do your job and make sure we're all safe from demonic twins." I manage to tease a half-smile onto her lips.

"I'll call you later," she tells me as she throws away her trash and quickly washes her hands.

"Thank you for lunch," I yell after her as she's already halfway out the door. She gives me a final look and wordlessly shakes her head at my gratitude before disappearing.

I take a deep breath and crumble up my own trash. And as I'm inhaling deeply I realise that maybe I'm actually feeling a little less tired now. Maybe all I needed was food, or something.


	7. Chapter 7

"You should add nutmeg to it, apparently that makes it more festive," Gail tells me as I sprinkle some cinnamon on my latte. She's already got her cup cradled in her hands, mindlessly blowing at the steaming liquid. More as a nervous reflex than a need for it too cool right now, I think. She'd called me a few hours ago wondering what I was up to tonight. In reality I'd plans with a friend to meet for coffee, Lara's been nagging me for weeks now that we don't spend enough time together and she's right. Phone conversations and texting sessions are a second best. But there was something in Gail's tone that...well made me reluctant to blow her off. One brief call to Lara and she insisted I invite Gail along. I'm not entirely sure this is the best of ideas, but that's Lara in a nutshell. She'll talk you into doing things you had no idea you wanted to, or even the things that you specifically said you'd never do. University alongside this woman had been an experience. God knows I love her to pieces, but in that moment I also remembered exactly why it had been weeks since I'd seen her.

"Are you okay?" Gail suddenly interrupts my silent musings, no longer fidgeting with her hot drink. I look over at her and realise what really surprised me about this scenario was that Gail had agreed. Lara is a social butterfly who seems to feed off of new people, but Gail...well she seems so...private. Our friendship has been sort of a bubble that none of her or my friends have yet been allowed to pop. But there's a first for everything.

"Fine, mind spaced out a little," I tell her and shake my head to emphasise it really was nothing. Also in an attempt to scatter my own thoughts and bring me back to the present.

Lara's late, as always, so we decided to stop waiting for her and just order. Now with drinks in hand we trail between the tables in the cosy little establishment, a favourite of Lara's, until we reach the corner table.

"Is this a gay coffee shop?" Gail asks bluntly as we take a seat.

"Yes, this coffee shop only has sex with other coffee shops," I deadpan, while unbuttoning my coat.

"You're hilarious." She shrugs out of her own coat, draping it across her chair. "You know what I'm asking."

I shrug. "It's an alternative coffee shop and they're pretty inclusive. It's got a mixed crowd, but they've got a feminist reading circle on Tuesdays and it's pretty popular with one specific kind of feminists," I tell her.

"So it's a gay coffee shops," she nods and takes a sip. "Tell me about your friend." Her tone makes it very easy to remember she's a police officer used to interrogating people.

"What do you want to know?" I ask her, determined to make her work for it if she wants the info.

"How do you know her? What does she do? How long have you know her? Does she only have sex with other coffee shops?"

I chuckle as I meet the dead serious expression in her blue eyes. "That's something you'll have to ask her," I say, crossing my legs under the table. "We've known each other since University. We used to be team mates."

"Is that a euphemism?" she asks with a suspicious look on her face.

"Maybe," I drawl in an ambiguous tone, but refuse to expand. Instantly I'm rewarded with that look of hers that lets me know she's really annoyed at me right now, lips a straight line and that little angry crinkle twitching between her eyes.

"Sorry I'm late," Lara sighs as she comes barrelling towards us. Without another word she dumps two bags next to me and gives me a peck in greeting, her lips freezing cold against the corner of my mouth.

"Wouldn't be you if you weren't," I greet her with a smile as she pulls back.

"You're lucky I love you, smartass," she says and sinks down on the free chair with a deep sigh.

"Love the new look," I compliment her with a nod towards the new hairdo, her dark hair now closely cropped, somehow highlighting her cheek bones and eyes in a way the long tresses hadn't.

"Thanks," she replies and drags a self-conscious hand through the short hair. "I needed a change."

Remembering my manners I look over to Gail and see that she's sporting that dubious expression that seems to be her default mode in situations she's not entirely comfortable in. "Gail, this is Lara. Lara meet Gail," I rush through the mandatory introductions.

"Nice to meet you, Gail," Lara immediately replies and reaches out her hand in greeting. "I've heard so much about you."

A little reluctantly Gail does the same. "Nice to meet you too, even if I haven't heard anything about you," she adds the last bit and gives me a pointed look.

"Well that doesn't hurt at all," Lara mocks and clutches at her heart dramatically.

I roll my eyes and retort, "Always the drama queen".

"So how do you two know each other?" Gail asks again cutting right to the chase, this time its aimed at Lara who's finally untangled herself from her plethora of bags and wrestled her way out of her coat.

"From a past life of sin," she replies with a soft smile and a wicked wink.

Judging by the look on Gail's face she's starting to get annoyed at our smoke screens and I decide to show her some mercy. "We used to play volleyball together," I reveal.

"Oh," she exhales and rather conspicuously eyes Lara's frame, as if to access her athletic ability.

"What? You don't believe I have it in me?" Lara calls Gail on the scrutiny. "Trust me, honey. I do." She gives her another wink, a much more suggestive one. And Gail suddenly flushes bright red, making me realise I don't think I've ever seen her blush before. It's cute, but I hide my smile in my drink. I don't need to add fuel to her flustered fire.

"Her spikes were legendary," I add trying to defuse the situation a little, momentarily thinking of giving Gail's shoulder a comforting rub but decide against it.

Before either of them have a chance to reply we're interrupted. "Don't I know you from somewhere?" a man in his mid-thirties asks as he steps up close to me, unfamiliar green eyes focused intently on mine. His plain white shirt buttoned up, slacks faintly wrinkled from a days work and a well trimmed goatee makes him look like any working professional in the city and doesn't helping me narrow down my list of suspects one bit. Surprised I look between him and my friends who look as questioning as I do, while desperately trying to place his face. A colleague? A friend of a friend?

"No, I don't think so," I answer a little hesitantly, not wanting to feel like a fool if I do know him, but at the same time having no recollection of his face or voice.

"You sure? Don't we go to the same gym," he insists.

My mouth falls open as I wrack my brain once more, so deep in concentration that I'm a little startled by the loud groan next to me. I look over at Gail and notice the very unimpressed look on her face and my frown deepens. Does she know him? Should I?

"Buddy, if that's the best you've got you're way out of your league," Gail aims at him as she butts right into the conversation. "In fact this lame pick-up attempt is so pathetic you're giving me second-hand embarrassment and hives," she literally groans at him. "Besides we're three women talking about sports at a coffee shop that's got rainbow flags and vaginas on the walls," she says nodding towards the O'Keefe prints above the register. "What part of this stereotype made you think you'd even have a chance?!" she aggressively demands to know, leaning against the back of her chair and waving her hand at him as if to get him to hurry with an answer. "C'mon, she's wearing flannel," she adds and lets her fingers curl around the cuff of my shirt. Well, to my defense it was a really cold day.

He's got his eyes on Gail and opens his mouth to speak and suddenly the impulse is right there and I don't even try to fight it. "Sorry, but my girlfriend's the jealous type," I say and move my arm, catching her off guard as I curl my fingers around the ones that had been resting on my cuff. I give our entwined fingers a little squeeze before fluttering my eyelashes at Gail. The expression on her face is priceless and I have a hard time not laughing out loud. Still keeping it together I slowly look over at the guy and give him a look as if to say, what can you do?

"I-" he stutters and scratches his neck nervously. "Nevermind," he mumbles as he tucks tail and runs.

I know the smile on my face is probably wicked if I'm to believe the look on Lara's questioning face. Dropping Gail's hand I shrug at Lara, but the self-satisfied smile stays in place.

"Why did you do that?" Gail asks me a little irritated.

"Me?" I shot back at her. "You're the one who started it, Miss Straight Saviour," I scold her gently.

She frowns at me, but stays quiet.

"Good to know you're still as clueless and snotty as always," Lara says before reaching over and take a sip of my coffee. "Some things never change."

i**i

After an hour of surprisingly fun small talk and due to a relentlessly prodding Gail more than one shared anecdote from my and Lara's shared University days, Gail had finally called it quits, blaming an early morning start tomorrow. It made me happy that she'd seemed to have enjoyed herself even if Lara had managed to get her to blush twice more during that time.

The next half hour we spent catching up on mutual friends and each other's lives over refills. It didn't take long before Lara broached the topic of my love life with as much tact and sensitivity as always.

"Look, Holly. I'm not telling you what to do-"

"There's no way that sentence isn't ending in a but," I interrupt her, shaking my head.

"Don't be cynical," she scolds me.

"I don't think that's the definition of cynical," I correct her. "The word you're looking for is observant."

"You're being evasive, because you know what I'm going to say makes sense."

I roll my eyes and reflexively throw back the dredge of my coffee, grimacing at the bitterness.

"It's been almost a year," she reminds me.

"Thanks, I'd almost forgotten," I slur sarcastically.

"Sarah's got a friend who's recently single and-"

"Look, I'm not really interested."

"Why not?" She moved her chair closer to mine, placing her hands on my knees. "Honey, you deserve to be with someone. Just because you and Julie were a bad match doesn't mean you have to give up."

"You make it sound like I'm borderline depressed."

"Well, aren't you? Relationship depressed."

I arch my eyebrow at her. I love her, she's been one of my closest friends for years, but sometimes I just don't have the energy to deal with her and her meddling. "One more word of pop-psychology and I'm leaving."

Undeterred she continues, "You keep spending all your time with that cop and we both know that's not going to end well".

"Spare me the clichés, please," I groan.

"I'm not saying you can't be friends with a straight woman-"

"That's exactly what you're saying."

"No," she gives me a stern look that makes her look like someone's mother. "It's perfectly normal to be friends with straight women, it happens all the time. But it's not called friendship when you look at someone like you look at her."

"Please-" I protest.

"I'm not expecting you to admit it. Denial is perfectly normal and you've always been more clueless than a fruitbat when it comes to these things. But you know I'm right."

"You're such a pain, you know that right?" I sigh without any attempts to hide my frustration.

"And I promise to always be your pain and bring you brutal honesty no matter what," she retorts and blows me a kiss. "Look, I don't care what you do. But it's just a date. One evening to get away from...things."

"That's just rude. I'm not an idiot and you know her name is Gail."

She smiles at me and shrugs. "C'mon, honey."

I sigh again. "Fine."

"Great!" she exclaims. "I'll make all the arrangements, all you have to do is show up," she squees in a very adolescent way and gives me a hug.

"Great," I repeat with considerably less enthusiasm.

She brings out her phone and starts typing, after a few seconds she looks up at me as if she'd forgotten I was still there. "What's the name of that dive bar Gail usually drags you to?"

"Why?" I ask suspiciously.

"Well I haven't actually met this woman so I don't want to set you up and just leave you out there. What better place to stay safe than a bar full of cops?! Besides you said it had a nice relaxed atmosphere, perfectly for a casual first date."

She's rambling so I know from experience she's not telling the whole truth. "So now you're setting me up with an axemurderer? You're really selling this date," I grumble.

"Don't be grumpy," she scolds me, slaps my thigh and then looks back at her typing. "Is there a specific day when all the cops are in there?"

"Why? What are you doing?"

"Nothing," she pats my arm. "Answer the question."


	8. Chapter 8

My phone sits on my desk, untouched and right now very much unloved. All morning long it's been buzzing, missed messages and texts. But I refuse to look at any of them. I know exactly who they're from and I'm going to continue to pretend that if I ignore her all of this will go away. This being the blind date Lara somehow made me agree to.

Usually I'm one of those people who actually like blind dates. It's fun to get to meet someone completely new, someone that you hardly know anything about. What's even more fun is to see what kind of person your friends or family think you'd enjoy spending enough time with to set the whole thing up. It can say a lot about who they think you are. So usually I'm a fan. No real strings attached either, because no one puts much hope in a blind date. It's just a night of fun with a stranger that you may or may not meet again, like a one-night stand but with conversation instead of cunnilingus. But for some reason this time it feels like a really bad idea.

Maybe it isn't so much the date as it's Lara's meddling. Her pointed little comments stirred up a hornet's nest of doubts and self-doubts. Emotions shouldn't be overanalysed like this, but I can't stop. I've been twisting months of friendship inside out in my mind, scrutinising every remembered interaction and trying to separate feelings from other feelings. Hatefully trying to sum them all up with specific and straightforward descriptions. There's a small part of me that resents Lara for always cutting through me and forcing me to see truth. No, I don't, I sigh exasperatedly. Despite or because of it all I do love her. She's always been there and even if I'm annoyed right now, what she does and says is always out of concern. She's right though, I have a history of being clueless. And it was with more than one affectionate and knowing nudge she helped me come out in the first place. Which I'm forever grateful for.

But this...I don't look at Gail _that_ way, do I? Sure, I'm pretty sure I kissed her at the wedding we went to, but that was just to stop her being such a brat and throw off her game a little. Honestly, my memory of it is a bit hazzey and the strength of the hangover I had the next day explains that perfectly. So that was alcohol and me being a little bit of a jerk, it wasn't anything deeper. Sure, I remember thinking about how flirtatious she was and if I'm to be perfectly honest I think I flirted back. But it was all done in fun. There was the no-sex rule from the start and that made the flirting seem like a good game to play to make time a little less slow at an awkward and boring social function. And I mean even if she's attractive and her eyes are those perfectly expressive kind of eyes that it's hard not to get lost staring into, it doesn't mean anything. Ryan Gosling has that same thing going on and I don't want to have sex with him.

What am I doing?!

Annoyed at myself I give my phone a dirty look before going back to reviewing my notes for an upcoming court appearance. Even if I didn't feel like an expert at anything right now, that was still what they payed me to be.

Damnit!

I reach for the phone just as it begins ringing again. "Please, Lara give it a rest!" I answer without even looking at the caller id. Which was my second mistake, the first one was to pick it up.

"Actually- not Lara," a voice I've never heard before replies. "But I did get your number from her, so maybe that makes me an enemy too?" she asks in a playful tone.

"I'm sorry," I begin, a little uncertain how to follow that up. "Who are you?" I decide to go with the honest truth.

She laughs, it's a nice sound, light and sort of twinkling. The kind of laugh that's contagious. So I end up smiling a little without knowing what I'm actually smiling about.

"Ava," she introduces herself. "This is a little bit weird, but-"

And then it clicks. "You're the blind date," I interrupt her.

"I'm actually not blind," she tells me in an inflectionless tone.

I open my mouth, but end up just frowning into the phone. It's hard to tell if someone's being sarcastic or not when you've never met them before, especially in a phone conversation. But I really hope she was, because I think I'd have to quit my friendship with Lara if this woman was being serious.

When I don't reply she adds, "That was a joke, clearly not a good one, but you're still allowed to laugh".

Something between a chuckle and a relieved sigh escapes my mouth. "Good to know. I can be a bit slow at times so feel free to queue the laugh breaks," I tease her back, thinking I could enjoy spending some time with this person, if I must.

"I'll keep that in mind," she replies in a soft tone. "Actually the reason I'm calling is that I hate blind dates."

"You want to cancel?" I ask her and try to make my tone neutral and curious, which might have been more successful if I hadn't been so eager to interrupt her in the first place.

"No...I'd like to change the conditions a little."

Now she's got me honestly curious. "What do you mean?"

"There are so many nerves and anxieties when you have to meet someone new for the first time. And blind dates are a first date and it's a first meeting, too much pressure."

I nod silently even if I personally don't think either of those things are a bad thing, but I get hating the pressure. "So what do you suggest?" I encourage her to continue.

"How about meeting for lunch tomorrow? We both need to eat-" she says, but suddenly stops herself. "Or at least I assume you do."

"I do," I admit with a small chuckle.

"That's a relief, cause I've got a history of only dating women who need to eat," she says and I find myself admitting this strange woman is a little bit charming. "So maybe meet for lunch tomorrow, not as a date or anything. Just two people eating food next to each other," she suggests. "Then next week it won't actually be a blind date or a first meeting."

"I like your logic, Ava," I tell her with a smile. "Lets do it."

"Great."

What did Lara know anyhow?! If I'd have feelings for Gail I wouldn't be smiling about a date with another woman, now would I?! Yeah, Lara is way off base. Even if she's also the one who set me up on this date in the first place, but…

...damnit, there's never any way of winning with Lara.


End file.
